1/13/22
As a little girl, I thought that being a teacher meant that you had superpowers. How else could it be explained that teachers had the answers to all the questions, got to work with really cute kids, all the students listened to them, and they had the whole summer off!
We still have the summers off, the kids are cute and there is no such thing as teacher superpowers.
I also harbored dreams of inspiring genius and repairing what’s broken. I was going to be that teacher who the award winning actor would thank for “believing in me and changing my world”. I would be that teacher who would fix what was broken, teach that child who couldn’t learn to read and help the one who came from a sad and complicated home.
When I was growing up, career options were mostly limited to opportunities that would allow for the flex time needed to be available for family. Most girls, maybe it’s still the case for some, had to juggle jobs, laundry and family responsibilities; that is just how it was.
To the discerning eye, becoming a teacher seemed the ideal way to have it all!
Also, teaching was the one career path where the ceiling was not made of glass.
Then there was the passion; I loved working with kids. I thought that I had what it takes to connect with kids; I am fun and smarter than your average fifth grader. I was convinced that I was going to make a difference in a student’s life and future.
After a 36 credit minor in education, two Masters in Education, and over fifty years in the field, I still have the passion but a lot of the rest has needed a serious reality check.
I have enjoyed a very wonderful and fulfilling career; I always worked hard, reflected on my professional practice and worked even harder. I have taught thousands of lessons to thousands of students and worked with hundreds of colleagues on all kinds of wonderful things.
I have celebrated successes and supported disappointment and it’s been so very good!
I have grappled with an aspect of my work that has stolen real estate from my head space, robbed me of sleep and sometimes has even engendered arguments and conflict with colleagues and families: What happens when you get a student who is not flourishing and even failing? What do you do when you are convinced that your school setting is not working or right for the child; not for the student, the class or the teacher?
When do you give up? Not on the child, never that. Rather on your own ability to help or make the accommodations needed to help that student succeed? When do you realize that what you are capable of doing falls short of the mark or what’s needed?
Rabbi David Eliach ע״ה, my teacher and mentor, taught me, “Barbara, if a child disturbs and is a bad influence on her/himself, figure it out. But if a child negatively influences others and is hurting the class/school culture, it is time to reassess and consider if he or she should be asked to leave the school.”
Making this kind of tough decision is never easy and always hard. When we are faced with making these kinds of choices, we deliberate long and hard and weigh all of the options from the school’s and child’s perspective.
Asking a child to leave a class, much less a school, will have a lifelong impact on all involved. The child may think of himself/herself as a loser and the teacher as a failure; on so many levels that it is not easily resolved by the child or me, as the teacher.
I took an oath to myself and to
my profession that I would do my best to help every child; I didn’t, I couldn’t.
I failed.
This week has been another hard one; the week has brought us to the midpoint of the school year. There are a number of children who are really struggling and I’m not sure that HANC is the right fit for them.
Is now the time to say, I give up?
Wishing all a Shabbat Shalom.
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